PINKBUNNIESLIPPERS

It was a rough week. I have detailed my journey enough and am just trying to get get better. I will say that if you are being told something by a Dr as to your condition if there is even one part of you that has a red flag go up it's ok to question the said medical professional. I was sent out of the ER with cough medicine for a sore throat and ibuprofen. Untouched, a simple infection went wild. I have had lymph nodes removed during my cancer 101 days and don't have the ability to fight all infections.My own Dr finally gave me a good dose of antibiotics and I am mending.

I can't physically speak right now. Mr PBS and I communicate through text. My best friend has been checking in regularly despite having to deal with a sudden death in her immediate family. But what do you do when the emails don't come and the texts are silent? Me. I think. Ponder. Explore. This morning I could only sit and just look out the window. I thought about our neighbors. Their house now is empty. A couple in their 80's lived there. The first few years we were here we would wave as the elderly man of the house would take his short daily walk. Then that stopped. One day, in the middle of winter, he was being helped into a car by a home health aide. He fell. Mr PBS saw and quickly ran over to help.He gently helped him up. The man was thankful, gracious and kind. He also had his own story. He invited Mr PBS in to meet his wife and told him a little about himself.
He was born in Italy. Before WW II He played on the Italian Olympic soccer team. He also was Jewish. He was sent to a concentration camp. Yes, his numbers tattooed on his arm. The details of which he mostly kept to himself but only to say his family was gone. He was liberated and came to America. When he first got here he came to Buffalo. He played soccer in Delaware park and began his life here. His wife was from Poland and had a journey such as his. What I do remember of her is she is a baker. When we first moved in we would sees cars pulling up to their house throughout the day and people picking up their cakes. Ever so carefully coming back out trying not to tip their box as the maneuvered back to the car. Watching their house today now empty as he passed last year and the kids now have his wife in a nursing home, I think what that house must have represented to them. A dream that became a realty. At the end of their journey they had what many of us take for granted. A home. The kids, from what I understand, don't want it. Too small. Not modern. So it sits. I imagine though the day they bought it. I see them standing in front of it. Together. small? no. Was that house more than four walls and a ceiling to them? I am sure of it. After all they had survived and been through a safe landing and home to come to.

After the neighbor passed Mr PBS had made sure her walk got snowblowed, de-iced and all in all was safe. The other neighbors around did the same. The children stopped by once a month.
This past summer the children, as I said, found a nursing home then a few weeks ago had an estate sale. I couldn't bring myself to go - I sensed that what I would think was valuable would be there and it would break my heart the family would have left it behind.